


One Night of Remission

by elisewrites



Series: Beautiful Wreckage [8]
Category: Good Girls (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Apologies, Developing Relationship, F/M, POV Rio (Good Girls), Slow Burn, Unresolved Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-27
Updated: 2019-09-27
Packaged: 2020-10-29 14:04:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20797808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elisewrites/pseuds/elisewrites
Summary: There's something to be said about honesty.It saves time, builds trust, fosters wisdom; all that other soft bullshit.And for the most part, he agrees. There's nothing better than being admired for breaking a guy's arm because he washonestlywasting his damn time.Though, there's also something to be said about forgiveness.In order to deal it, you have to be honest about what's been so unforgivable thus far; be honest about whether it's worth holding onto the pain of what's over and done with.He assumes that it's the inward show of honesty that always makes him so reluctant to forgive.He knows better than to talk the talk without walking the walk, so if he's going to keep preaching about handling unsavory things, he'll hold himself accountable all the same.





	One Night of Remission

Rio is sitting on the edge of the bed when she exits the bathroom, hands clasped in front of him and elbows braced on his knees as he stares absently ahead of him. Beth had scrubbed her face raw, erasing all evidence of the tear tracks drawn by her mascara and attempting to rid herself of the memory of the man’s touch. She had to have smoothed her hands across her torso at least ten times before she had been able to stop squirming at the point of contact, had finally found release from the urge to crawl out of her own skin.

Beth still feels repulsive when she exits the bathroom, but she suppresses the urge to disclose that through her body language as she passes by him. She can’t find it within herself to spare him a glance, and instead ops for pulling her shattered phone out of the pocket of her jeans. She dials up Annie first, wandering to the farthest corner of the apartment with her phone hovering an inch from her ear as it rings. She can feel Rio’s eyes on her, always can like a sixth sense, but she avoids his line of vision as she hears the line connect on the fourth ring.

Annie answers like she always does, with some millennial variant of a greeting, before she’s immediately interrogating Beth in response to her tone. She figures she still sounds shaken up— it would make sense, considering the memories from tonight are floating in and out of her subconscious with no uniformity. She assures Annie that she’s fine, but informs her that she should steer clear of the house for a day or two. She’s not sure how efficient the “cleanup crew” is, but she figures that eliminating the possibility of running into them is a wise move. Just to be safe. 

Annie’s tone grows more and more panicked despite Beth’s efforts as she asks her where she’s gone, why she’s instructed her to do this, when she can see her. Beth pinches the bridge of her nose, exhaustion clinging to her limbs as Annie rambles on.

It takes another five minutes of resilient assurance and vague snippets of information before Annie is even the slightest bit comfortable with ceasing her interrogation and hanging up the phone. When the line goes dead, Beth heaves out a heavy sigh before scrolling down to Ruby’s contact and repeating the process all over again.

By the time she gets around to calling Dean, she can barely stand on her own two feet, the fatigue that’s burrowed its way into her bones throwing her off balance. He barely picks up the phone early enough to avoid sending her to voicemail, and he’s short with her right off the bat. She hopes her tone of voice conveys how much she doesn’t need this right now, but he’s oblivious as ever, insisting that the kids are already asleep when she asks if she can say goodnight to them. 

The rage from her earlier dispute with Rio returns with equal tenacity, simmering low in her stomach as her fingers curl into her palms until she can feel the bite of her nails against her skin. Judging by the commotion in the background of the call, she knows she wouldn’t be able to talk to them even if they weren’t asleep like he’s claiming; he isn’t even with them.

“Where are you, Dean?” She asks, her patience thinning rapidly as his receiver picks up the bass of a boisterous rap song.

“Where are _you, _Beth?” He counters, evidently tipsy if his shrill tone is anything to go by. A difficult mission made impossible, she muses with an irritated sigh. Before she can dignify him with an answer, however, he’s providing one of his own. 

“You’re with him, aren’t you? You’re with him,” he denounces haphazardly. Beth scoffs involuntarily, refusing to dignify his immaturity with an answer.

“Call me first thing in the morning; sober, preferably.”

She ends the call before he can squeeze in any retorts. 

She pinches the bridge of her nose again, hoping to relieve some of the tension from the headache she can feel brewing behind her eyelids when a set of warm, calloused fingers glide across the length of her shoulder to the base of her neck.

Her head instinctually pivots towards the source of contact, her gaze landing on Rio, who has somehow managed to cross the length of a one-bedroom apartment with his stealth still intact. His expression is impossible to read as he studies her, taking her in with a slight tilt of his head.

His fingers press into the sensitive flesh at the base of her spine, coercing the knots in the muscles to unravel with a distinguishable expertise. Her body’s reaction is irrepressible, her lips parting with a sigh and her eyelids flitting closed as she melts against his touch. 

And she’s content to hold this moment for herself; to forgo how ill-advised it is to be memorizing the feel of his skin against hers like it’s the first time she’s experiencing it. That is, until his lips are ghosting over the shell of her ear and his raspy voice is breaking the silence.

“Everythin’ okay, mama?” Rio murmurs, his breath warm on her skin. She opens her eyes — can’t even recall having closed them — and jolts when she registers his proximity. This time his lips _do_ make contact with her ear, and a shudder works its way down her spine in a way that’s all too familiar. The scent of cologne, cedar, and something distinctly _him_ is all-encompassing as she breathes him in, comforting in a way she never should’ve permitted it to be, and she just— she needs him to back up. Just an inch of space, she reckons, is all she needs to regain the clarity he’s swiftly stripped her of. 

And it happens so quickly— Beth raising her right hand to grasp at his wrist so that she can squeeze it, willing him to understand that his touch is too much, that his body is too close, that she needs him to _back up _but of course he doesn’t. Her breathing is more labored now, coming out in short pants that caress his cheek when she turns her head to look at him, but he’s leaning too close to her now and she can’t catch his eye. 

She squeezes harder, attempts to pry his grip from her neck but he continues to knead at the muscle there, his focus fixed on working out the kinks and she’s conflicted by the sensations running through her. She can’t allow herself any perceived illusions cast by his skin caressing hers because _she shot him _and she can’t comprehend how he isn’t as disgusted with her as she is with herself.

Beth gathers her last semblance of self-control and coherent thought to stutter out, “Fine. I’m fine,” internally grimacing at how breathy her voice sounds to her own ears. She can’t even muster up the mortification to imagine what Rio’s expression must look like when he hears it. 

And it’s like a switch has been flipped when she’s finally able to get the words out; immediately, Rio’s fingers are loosening their grip on her neck and falling away from it altogether in the same moment that he takes a step away from her, giving her space to breathe properly again. 

She internally chastises herself when disappointment scornfully burrows itself between her ribs, shame brewing in rapid succession to it. She doesn’t deserve his gentle touches, she reminds herself, doesn’t deserve his concern, but the reality of it does little to deter the ache in her chest. 

He’s turning on his heel before she has the chance to fully comprehend what _that _was, stopping at the far wall and leaning his full weight against it. Feeling the need to occupy her shaking hands, Beth moves to gather her hair into a bun, and she isn’t surprised when his eyes follow her actions. His expression is impassive, as it so often is, leaving every last one of his thoughts to the imagination and giving nothing away as his eyes trace over her features.

“I’ll get us somethin’ to eat, yeah? Stay here,” he informs her, and she practically gives herself whiplash with how fast her gaze snaps to his. 

“But—“ She starts, desperate to make some sense of the rapid shift in his tenor.

“Won’t be long,” he throws over his shoulder, effectively cutting her off, clutching his keys in one hand and reaching for the doorknob with the other.

Beth watches him silently as he makes his exit, watches the door fall shut behind him with a soft click of the latch, dumbfounded in the moments following. Their earlier conversation had left her emotionally drained, had been garnered with the ever-present exhaustion tugging at her sanity, but she finds herself preferring that to whatever treatment he had just given her. There was a balance of power between them earlier, provided by the giving and receiving of raw honesty, but now she’s left without the slightest clue as to what’s prompted his neurotic behavior.

| |

It takes Rio the entirety of a fifteen minute car ride, a ten minute service delay, and two-thirds of the return trip to the complex for him to placate the irritation running through his veins like electricity through a live wire.

It had gripped him so suddenly; one minute he was amused at the idea of getting a reaction out of her like he once did so frequently, then the next he was backhanded by the revelation that while he could _still_ make Elizabeth breathless, it could never go any further than that. 

This time around, he knows he has to keep himself on a tight leash. He had given into the urge to alleviate some of the stress he had sensed radiating off of her, but he hadn’t distanced himself enough. The moment he felt her muscles relax beneath his touch, he knew he had made a mistake. 

So, he fled. He had placed distance between them as quickly as he could manage, had given into his hardwired instinct to build a wall around himself until no one could see over the top. Sure, it was a plan that was only meant to suffice for as long as it took him to order takeout, but it was enough to regain the ounce of clarity he had lost when her hand had grasped at his.

As much as he could reckon that she deserved it, that she could take it, he hadn’t wanted to turn his irritation on her. The only person he was truly irritated with was himself, for not being able to hold himself to this new set of boundaries between them; for not _wanting _to, as if her firing three bullets into his chest meant nothing short of a minor setback in their relationship. As if it shouldn’t’ve given him every motive to return the favor and off her like he had planned on doing all those months ago right where her family ate their Sunday dinners.

He could barely recognize himself lately.

There was something else, though, that had prompted his indignation when he had allowed his gaze to wander over Elizabeth’s features. After she had claimed that she was alright, after he had stepped away, given her space, and attempted to get a handle on his brewing irritation. Before she had gotten the chance to mask it, he had caught the discomfort lacing her expression; the shame lurking within those cerulean blues. She hadn’t wanted his touch to affect her the way he hadn’t known it still would.

He can’t shake his train of thought from her even once he’s made it back to the complex, a plastic bag of Thai food clutched in his left hand as he ascends the four flights of stairs to his apartment. When he places his key in the lock and twists it, the view that greets him is nothing short of unprecedented. 

Immediately his eyes fall on Elizabeth, who appears to be passed out on the couch, his demeanor subconsciously softening as he shuts the door behind him. His eyes drag over her form as he moves to deposit their takeout on the kitchen counter, oddly unable to tear his gaze away as she stirs imperceptibly. He can’t fathom her position being very comfortable, but he doesn’t disturb her as he moves towards the bedroom to change out of his clothes.

Although Rio doesn’t visit this particular unit often (considers it more of a contingency plan than anything else), he still keeps an assortment of clothing articles in the closet for situations like their current one. He’s in the middle of shucking out of his jeans when he hears shuffling from the living room, and he pulls on the loose-fitting black sweats he had dug out of the dresser before stepping around the door and pressing a shoulder against the frame.

Rio remains silent, observing Elizabeth as she strides towards the kitchen counter and diligently pulls the plastic handles of the bag apart to peer inside it. She seems to sense his gaze on her because she withdraws from it, her hands releasing the bag and her eyes raising to find his. 

The moment seems to occur in slow motion as her gaze drops to his bare chest before immediately darting away, her eyes suddenly wide and flashing with an emotion he can’t quite place. It’s the increasingly-familiar dolefulness tugging at her features that causes his smug expression to quickly morph into one of pensive reservation, the rationale for her shift in demeanor curtly dawning upon him. 

And in that moment he thinks that maybe, despite yearning to witness her reaction to the damage she had inflicted since the morning he woke up to a white-tiled ceiling and several needles in his body — maybe seeing the remorse in addition to the exhaustion distorting her features wasn’t what he wanted after all.

Feeling oddly merciful, Rio finds himself ducking back behind the door briefly to retrieve a black tee from the open drawer. Elizabeth keeps her gaze cast towards the kitchen cupboards as he tugs it over his head, and he doesn’t offer up any attempt at conversation as he moves to join her at the island.

Her gaze doesn’t dare return to him until he reaches for her, ghosting his fingers over hers where they rest on the counter, balled into a fist. He feels it, however briefly, underneath the pads of his fingers when she clenches her fist tighter. Her knuckles are white with the force of her grip, and it’s like a non-verbal truce is formed between them in that moment as he captures her gaze with his, his expression offering her a remission after what has to have been one of the worst days of her life.

Rio may be guilty of more than a few wrongdoings, but he’s never known himself to be ruthless. And despite their messy past and his instinctual lust for vengeance, his behavior towards Elizabeth is no exception.

He holds her eye for a moment, her hand delicate and warm under his, before redirecting his attention to the bag of food behind her. She shrinks back slightly when she’s no longer pinned under his gaze, but makes no move to slide her hand out from under his. The tension in the air is palpable, but weakens significantly when Rio needs both of his hands to lay out their spread of Thai food. 

Next to him, Elizabeth has found something to occupy herself with as he sifts through the bag, riffling first through his cabinets to fetch them two plates, then through the drawers to locate the cutlery. She offers him a plate, which he accepts wordlessly, piling a generous helping of vegetable stir fry upon it.

They eat adjacent to one another, Rio on the inside of the island and Elizabeth opposite the wall it merges with. For a while, the clinking of their forks and swirling of noodles are the only noise filling the silence between them, but it’s not unpleasant. Rio prefers it this way; he has more time to gather his thoughts as opposed to humoring questions he hasn’t gotten the chance to answer yet. He can tell she has more to say to him, almost always does, but it isn’t until she’s cleared her own plate that she shifts into a more restless state beside him.

When he spares a glance at her, his own food nearly finished, she’s got her gaze trained down at the counter, her arms folded on top of it and her shoulders sagging with the weight of her exhaustion. She appears to be mulling over something, and his gaze has just returned to his plate when she speaks up.

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs, the hoarseness of her voice capturing his full attention.

His head snaps up, eyes wide and alert as they roam over her face. She holds his gaze, the intensity in her own threatening to burn him. He allows his fork to gently slip from his fingers, licking his lips and fixing a neutral mask over his features as he sinks back into his chair.

The words are right there; _for what,_ resting on the tip of his tongue, but he doesn’t allow them to pass his lips. He already knows the answer and, oddly enough, isn’t interested in making her say it. Not tonight, at least.

There’s a suffocating lapse of silence following her words in which Elizabeth seems to hold her breath, waiting on his response.

He doesn’t know how much his expression is betraying, but whatever she reads in it is enough to make her falter. Her shoulders deflate slightly and she seems to consider saying something else, but she remains silent in the moments following. His eyes dart over her shoulder briefly, his jaw tensing before his gaze returns to her.

“Aight,” he concedes through a sigh.

She looks surprised for a moment, as if she hadn’t expected it to be that easy, but briskly schools her expression. She nods a little to herself, her eyes wandering around the room as they lapse into silence.

To say her muteness is a surprise to Rio would be an understatement, and he can’t bring himself to refrain from pushing her a little. 

“Cat got your tongue, darlin’? Figured you woulda started firin’ off all your explanations by now,” he teases but there’s no malice behind it, and it feels normal, feels _right, _even if the subject matter of the conversation isn’t lighthearted and his phrasing isn’t eloquent.

Elizabeth just shakes her head, her gaze cast downwards until she meets his eye. 

“What good would they do?” She asks earnestly, as if her question weren’t rhetorical.

He just tilts his head at her, intrigued.

“It wouldn’t change what I did,” she says, and he swears she chokes on the last word. 

Rio nods in response to that because, yeah, he doesn’t think he’d value her excuse for putting three bullets in him a whole lot. Still, knowing that she’s given thought to how she wanted to say this, that she’s mulled over how to make things right— it causes something warm to spark in his stomach and settle there.

“Let me ask you somethin’,” he affirms, and he watches her tongue glide between her lips before she’s nodding her head curtly, prompting him to continue.

“Would you do it again?” He inquires, and she visibly reels back like the question had physically struck her. She blinks a few times, her eyebrows furrowing, and once she’s recovered her response is immediate.

“_No_,” she says, her unerring tone erasing any doubt of the honesty behind her words. “Never.”

He doesn’t smile, exactly, but his lips lift at the corner in some semblance of one as he nods to himself, gaze wandering for a moment. And he’s not relieved, really; she doesn’t pose a threat to him anymore. Still, a strange sort of satisfaction twists in his gut as his eyes cut back to her.

“That’s good.”

**Author's Note:**

> IT'S HERE IT'S HERE IT'S HERE!  
holy shit, this part has, without a doubt, taken me longer to complete than any other from this series. i apologize for the wait, but it's more than likely that this is going to be the norm for the remainder of the fall season.  
i'm going to try to start shortening these notes, but i wanted you all to know how good it feels to be back. i'm very proud of this part, and i really hope the wait ended up being worth it.  
i also deeply apologize if anyone was mislead by the summary. i'm not sure i could ever let myself live it down if i were to attempt writing smut, but i know that there's plenty of authors on here that are happy to provide it, lol.  
until next time, loves!


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